For You, the World
by Idrelle Miocovani
Summary: He's a rogue and an assassin. He cares more about his sense of sarcasm than saving the world (that's not true, but he'll pretend it is). He's full of grace, but he will fall flat on his face. Meet Eledin Lavellan, the accidental, unexpected saviour of Thedas. A series of ficlets. Alternative continuity to The Tempest's Shadow.


**A/N:** This is a series of drabbles and ficlets, based on different prompts I get every week. They're not interconnected, just simple fun with Eledin Lavellan, the goofiest of my Inquisitors. I'm not really sure how many of these I'm planning on writing, so this could end up being either pretty short or pretty long! Who knows?

* * *

 **FOR YOU, THE WORLD**

* * *

 **01\. Falling**

Eledin falls.

He falls a lot. He was always clumsy and mischievous as a youth, even more so now, as an adult. He is the type to be the only one to slip on the surprise icy patch of snow, to lose his footing while walking down a hill; to have his branch break while climbing up a tree. He has never questioned his clumsiness (Dorian calls it endearing).

This fall is different.

The stone cracks underfoot, breaking apart and crumbling as he and his companions run. Then down – down – down – Dorian, Iron Bull, Sera, Hawke, Alistair, all tumbling over one another—into darkness. The blood-stained sands lay far, far below. A soon-to-be gravesite for their crumpled bodies.

Eledin thrusts forward his hand. It glows green.

Then the air itself is sundered, tearing open at the seams—and they disappear into the abyss.

 **02\. Forgive and Forget**

They stand on opposite sides of the wide, arched doorway that leads out to the balcony. Both lean on the richly carved doorframes, arms crossed, heads tilted.

 _I guess it's true what they say,_ Eledin thinks. _Spend enough time in another's company and you eventually become them. And they become you._

Except time is something he no longer has.

"Don't give me that look."

"What look?" Eledin is playing all innocence right now.

"You're glowering. Look, you're doing it right now!

"It's _my_ face, Dorian, I can do what I want with it."

"Yes, well, stop." Dorian shifts uncomfortably. "You're making me feel guilty."

"You're leaving _tomorrow,_ Dorian," Eledin says. "To Tevinter."

"I can't help that.

"You could have told me sooner."

"I know." Dorian lowers his gaze. "I should have. It's the polite thing to do, after all. But… I suppose I just wanted a little more time with you, amatus—without my departure hanging over us."

"I know."

"You're still angry with me."

"Yes." Eledin pushes himself away from the doorframe. He walks towards Dorian, hands behind his back. "You know what's even better than being angry?" He reaches out and pulls his lover close, kissing him—gentleness melting into passion—then pulls away. He murmurs breathlessly in Dorian's ear, "Goodbye sex."

Dorian laughs.

"What do you say?" Eledin says, eyes alight with mischief. "I didn't have Josephine order that bed all the way from Val Royeaux for nothing."

"I adore the way you think, amatus."

 **03\. The Teacher Becomes the Student**

 _Twang._

"Damn it!" Eledin's voice carries across the training grounds, impatience and frustration ringing in it.

Sera reaches down and pulls an arrow out of a wood-carved deer, one of the training dummies strewn across the yard. "You're not doing it right," she says as she moves lithely across the yard, gathering arrows.

Eledin's hands grip the bow so tightly his knuckles turn white. "Then tell me what I'm doing wrong."

"First—" she lets out a little "oomph" as she pulls out an arrow stuck firmly in the ground. "You need to relax. Second, you need to stop dancing around with your feet, you're not fighting with daggers. Third—" She pulls an arrow out of a haystack and examines the tip. "You need to _see."_

"Sera, that makes no sense."

She shrugs. "It's like I always say, mate—most elves can't find an arrow even if they're sitting on it."

"Oh haha. You're so funny. What an excellent sense of humour you have."

Sera takes the bow from his grasp. "Let me show you, yeah? It goes like this—"

 _Twang—twang—twang._

Three arrows. Three marks.

"See?" Sera says, turning to him. "Easy as cookies."

Eledin folds his arms and leans against a wood post. "I think you mean pie."

 _Twang._ A fourth arrow plunges into the wood above Eledin's head. "Hey!" Eledin glares at her and moves away.

Sera giggles and steals his spot by the post. "No, I _mean_ cookies. I'm rubbish at pie." She pauses. "Rubbish at cookies too, come to think of it, but better at them than pie." She wiggles her eyebrows at him and . "Had enough for today? We could go catch a drink—"

 _Thwump._ A dagger sticks out of the wood post above her head. Sera shrieks in surprise.

"See?" Eledin says. "I can do it, too."

"You jerk!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he says, retrieving his dagger. "But we're not done yet. It's your turn."

"Oh, c'mon Eledin, I was only joking with that shot! I hate throwing daggers, I can't aim them better—"

"What're you talking about?" Eledin grins. "All you need to do is _see."_

Sera reluctantly and hesitantly pulls the dagger out of the wood above her head. "Let's go get a drink instead, yeah? That's a better idea."

"Oh no. You're not weaseling out of this one. You teach me to shoot, I teach you to throw daggers. Remember?"

Sera rolls her eyes. "Fine. But you owe me a drink."

"You bet I do."

 **04\. Hit Me With Your Best Shot**

The large, hulking Qunari spear thrower throws back his head and beats his chest, roaring a challenge. The Qun'lat words fall on deaf ears as Eledin can never figure out what any of them meant. But he recognizes the tone and it puts this Qunari soldier into a category made up of all manner of men, women, creatures, animals, darkspawn and dragons across Thedas who thought they could kill the Inquisitor.

All of them have failed.

Even the will that had been Corypheus.

Eledin draws his daggers and gripped the blades' hilts, falling into his preferred combat stance. It allows him to move faster and with more agility than his enemies—they can't hit a target if they can't see it.

"Come on!" Eledin yells. Above, thunder cracks and lightning splits the sky. It begins to rain—it's a downpour. "Come on and fight me, you bastard!"

The Qunari continues shouting, a long string of words that Eledin gives up on listening to after a few seconds.

"COME ON AND FIGHT—"

"ELEDIN!" Dorian roars. His hand rises, glowing blue as he moves to cast a barrier—

A flash of green-blue light, a sting of magical energy, and Eledin is blown back, head over heels, as a new adversary falls out of the sky. He lands on the ground, cracking the earth. He is in chains, a mask pinned over his face, his body cackling with magical energy.

Saarebas.

"Oh, shit," Eledin says.

 **05\. Sunrise, Sunset**

The day starts much like any other, with the sky turning an innocent pink as the sun slowly creeps above the mountains. Eledin has risen before Dorian (who likes to sleep late, especially after a night of too much wine) and wandered out onto the balcony. Clad only in his trousers, his well-defined chest bare save for a stylized pendant Dorian had gifted him some months ago, Eledin begins the series of slow stretches and breathing exercises he has performed every morning since he came of age. A tradition taught to him by his father.

Sometime later, Dorian rolls out of bed and walks out on the balcony. He never joins Eledin, but he "likes to watch", as he puts it.

Skyhold is quiet. Almost too quiet, as Eledin makes his morning rounds around the castle. By the time he meets his advisors in the war room, he should suspect that something is off—but he doesn't.

Then it comes. The earth-shattering crack that roars across the sky, the flash of pulsing green light—the Breach is active once more.

Corypheus is calling him to the Valley of Sacred Ashes.

To battle.

* * *

The day ends much like any other, with a brilliant sunset painting the sky with oranges and reds and golds. It should been a sight to behold—only it is no longer the only remarkable thing about the sky.

That honour belongs to the Breach.

It's closed now—permanently. A scar in the heavens, but no more than that—a scar, a memory. The only reminder of the changes that have wracked the world over the past year.

Corypheus is dead, torn apart by the magic of the Fade wielded at Eledin's command. Thedas can know peace again.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Dorian leans against a wall of broken stone, one of the remaining pieces of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. He nods at the sky.

Eledin looks over at him from where he kneels on the ground. He barely has the energy to stand. "The best sight I've seen in days," he says. He presses a hand to his side—he fully suspects he has a broken rib or two from when Corypheus' magic tossed him around like a rag doll.

Dorian walks over and kneels beside him. He puts a hand on his shoulder. "Then let's enjoy it, shall we?"

Eledin covers Dorian's hand with his own—and smiles.


End file.
